A sleeping bag that had been tucked into the corner space.
Like someone was squatting in here. I’d heard of this problem in other abandoned places, people breaking in and taking up residence. But not here. Not in this neighborhood. Not with everyone so close to others who would notice people coming and going, who would hear something in the night.
I slid the sleeping bag my way, and a small black notebook dislodged from where it had been balanced within. I took the notebook and backed out of the room to where I could use my flashlight without fear of being seen.
A pencil marked a page in the middle like a bookmark. Opening to the marked spot, I recognized the handwriting immediately. Knew for certain who had broken in and who had been staying here.
This belonged to Ruby.
At the top of the page was a date. The day before the party. The day before she died: July 3. Her notes seemed to be written in a complex system I couldn’t quite work out. Letters and arrows, dates and times.
I flipped to the front page to see if I could make sense of it. In faint print, she’d written a series of numbers on the inside cover: 62819
6-28-19.
The date of her release.
I turned the page, and a square of folded paper slipped out.
I unfolded it to reveal an old computer printout. Like something from our message board.
But it wasn’t recent. I recognized it from long ago. This was a screenshot of our message board from the early days of the investigation:
HOLLOW’S EDGE COMMUNITY PAGE
Subject: CHECK YOUR CAMERAS
Posted: 4:48 p.m.
Chase Colby: You all saw the video from the Seavers—looks like Ruby, but it’s not a clear shot with her hood pulled up. What we need is footage between midnight and 2 a.m. We need to track Ruby, and it has to be airtight. Check your doorbell cameras, any security footage, anything that picks up noise… let me know what you’ve got.
Margo Wellman: What if we find something else?
Chase Colby: Don’t.
Javier Cora: Lol
Preston Seaver: He’s just being honest. There can’t be anything else. A lawyer will take that and try to cast doubt, twist the story around so that it’s someone else instead. Anyone who might’ve stepped outside. Suddenly you’re the other suspect. Just saying.
Chase Colby: He’s not wrong.
Tina Monahan: It’s obviously her.
Charlotte Brock: Delete this.
This exchange had barely appeared on the message board before Chase went back and deleted it. But it was enough. And Ruby had it.
The post that had kicked everything off. The focus on her time line that ultimately led to her conviction, yes. But also her release. The screenshot that found its way to the lawyer months after the trial, that started the internal investigation into the police. That got her conviction overturned.
Ruby had a copy of it, and as with a list of suspects, she was watching them all.
The paper shook in my hand as I scanned through the names. My neighbors, people who once were my friends. It had seemed so innocent then: an idea slowly gaining momentum—evidence conforming toward its support.
I had thought everyone had good intentions. But maybe I was wrong.
The people of Hollow’s Edge, subconsciously conspiring against her, to end her. To put her in her place. To show: Here—look what we can do. That we, as a collective group, were powerful. And once we began, it was a steamroller gaining momentum, and there was no stopping it.
She had come out of prison on a mission. Had lied and broken into this house; followed us, watched us. Taunted us with what she knew.
This neighborhood may have become something different in the time since she’d been gone, but oh, so had she.
I wasn’t sure if she would’ve done this before or whether prison had changed her. Or if everything that had happened before had changed her view of the justice system. What was the point of playing by the rules if you were the only one? If the system had failed you?
Not that I was ever sure Ruby had played by the rules. She’d had these keys, after all.
But two weeks ago, I wouldn’t have been here. I wouldn’t have dug up the keys and let myself into this home that did not belong to me.
Turned out, we were all so close to criminal. All you needed was a good enough motive.
* * *
I TOOK THE JOURNAL with me. Had no intention of staying in this house any longer than necessary. Wasn’t sure how Ruby had managed—in the oppressive heat, with the stifling scent—knowing all that had happened here. I couldn’t lock the back door, since the key didn’t work, but I retraced my steps, out the patio gate, back through my own, and then sat on the edge of my couch, trying to make sense of Ruby’s notes.